Part 26 (1/2)
”My little friend,” I said, ”I sympathise with you very deeply. It is, I admit, a very bitter truth which I have been compelled to point out.
For that very reason I have been so much against your friends.h.i.+p with young men. Drury is in ignorance of your true ident.i.ty. He believes you to be plain Miss Gottorp. But when I tell him the truth--”
”Ah, no!” she cried. ”You will not tell him--you won't--will you?
Promise me,” she urged. ”I must, I know, one day find a way of breaking the bond of love which exists between us. When--when--that--time-- comes--then we must part. But he must never know that I have deceived him--he must never know that the reason we cannot be more than mere friends is on account of my Imperial birth. No,” she added bitterly, ”even though I love d.i.c.k so dearly and he loves me devotedly, I shall be compelled to do something purposely in order that his love for me may die.” Then, sighing deeply, my dainty little companion implored: ”You will therefore promise me, Uncle Colin, that you will never--never, under any circ.u.mstances, breathe a word to him of who I really am?”
I took her trembling hand for a second and gave her my promise.
I confess I felt the deepest sympathy for her, and told her so frankly and openly as I sat there taking leave of her, for that very evening I intended to leave Brighton and catch the night mail from Charing Cross direct for Moscow.
She said but little, but when we had returned to Brunswick Square and I stood with her at the window of the big drawing-room, she was unable to control her emotions further and burst into a flood of bitter tears.
In tenderness I placed my hand upon her shoulder, endeavouring to console her. Alas! I fear my words were stilted and very unconvincing.
What could I say, when all the world over royal birth is a bar to love and happiness, and marriages in Imperial and Royal circles are, for the most part, loveless, unholy unions. The Grand d.u.c.h.ess or the royal Princess loves just as ardently and devotedly as does the free and flirting work-girl or the tea-and-tennis girl of the middle-cla.s.ses.
Alas! however, the heart of the Highness is not her own, but at the disposal of the family council, which discusses her marriage as a purely business proposition, and sells her, too frequently, to the highest bidder.
The poor girl, crushed by the hopeless bitterness of the situation, declared with a sob:
”To be born in the purple, as the outside world calls it, is, alas! to be born to unhappiness.”
I remained there a full half-hour, until she grew calm again. Never in all the years I had known her--ever since she was a girl--had I seen her give way to such a paroxysm of despair. Usually she was so bright, buoyant and light-hearted. But that afternoon she had utterly broken down and been overcome by blank despair.
”You are young, Natalia,” I said, with deep sympathy. ”Enjoy your life to-day, and do not endeavour to meet the troubles of the future. As long as you remain here and are known as Miss Gottorp, so long may your friends.h.i.+p with young Drury be maintained. Live for the present--do not antic.i.p.ate the future.”
I said this because I knew that Time is the greatest healer of broken hearts.
But she only shook her head very sadly, without replying.
The black marble clock on the mantelshelf chimed six, and I recollected that Hartwig had wired that he would meet me at the ”Metropole” at that hour. My train was due to leave for London at seven. I had already bidden Miss West adieu. So I took Natalia's hand, and pressing it warmly, wished her farewell, promising to regularly report by telegraph my progress across Siberia, as far as possible.
She struggled to her feet with an effort, and looking full into my face said in a voice choked by emotion:
”Good-bye, Uncle Colin, I am sorry I cannot betray Marya's secret. You are doing this in order to save two innocent women from the horrors of a living tomb in the Siberian snows--to demand that justice shall be done.
Go. And may G.o.d in His great mercy take you under His protection.”
What I replied I can scarcely tell. My heart was too full for words.
All I know is that a few moments later I turned out of the great wide square, where the rooks were cawing in the high trees, and hurried along the wide promenade, where the red sun was setting behind me in the sea.
Hartwig I found at the ”Metropole” awaiting me. He related how he had called at the flat in Albemarle street, and, by a judicious tip to the young valet he found there, had learnt that Mr Richard Drury was the son of old Sir Richard Drury, knight, the great s.h.i.+p-builder of Greenock, who had built a number of cruisers for the Navy. He was a self-made man, who commenced life as a fitter's labourer in a s.h.i.+p-builder's yard up at Craigandoran on the Clyde--a bluff, hearty man whose generosity was well-known throughout the kingdom.
”Young Richard, it seems,” Hartwig went on, ”after leaving Oxford became a director of the company, and though apparently leading a life of leisure, yet he takes quite an active part in the direction of the London office of the firm in Westminster.”
He expressed the strongest disapproval when I told him of my intention to leave for Siberia and instructed him to remain there and to take the Grand d.u.c.h.ess under his protection until he received definite orders from the Emperor.
”I certainly don't like the idea of your going to Siberia alone, Mr Trewinnard,” he declared. ”Markoff will know the instant you start, and I fear that--well, that something may happen.”
”It is just as likely to happen here in Brighton, Hartwig, as in Russia,” I replied.
”Well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, ”all I advise is that you exercise the very greatest care. Why not take my a.s.sistant, Petrakoff?